RECOVERY AND REST
by Patcat
Summary: A reconciliation.


RECOVERY AND REST

sPOILERS FOR PURGATORY and BETRAYED

Bobby Goren walked warily into One Police Plaza. He kept his head down and tried, not very successfully, to make his large bulk as small as he could. He carefully scanned the faces of the other people getting on the elevator. He arrived early and left late enough that he rarely encountered any members of the Brass, but he had no desire to run into any of them at any time. The stares and whispers of other cops and the stony silences that filled elevators when he entered them were bad enough. Even when he reached the eleventh floor and the familiar territory of the Major Case Squad he found himself checking the room and wondering who was responsible for that thing in his desk. He'd always thought he was at least tolerated by the rest of Major Case. He'd taken shifts no one else wanted. He'd shared the glory of successes and accepted the blame of failures. He was part of the team with the best solve rate in the squad. But in recent months he realized that most, if not all, of any good will belonged to his partner. And he wasn't sure if she was really still his partner, or, if she was, how long she might remain in that position.

"She hasn't left, at least physically, yet," he thought as he sat at his desk.

But she'd treated him with a terrible coldness, interacting with him only on the professional level. He deserved it. He wondered why she hadn't left him before. She had every right and reason to. He wondered if staying with him was part of some agreement she'd made to get the black mark out of her jacket. Maybe she was just waiting for Ross to find her another partner or for her transfer request to go through.

"The real reason I wanted to come back," he thought. "And I ruined it. How can I explain to her? I desperately needed to work with you, so I lied to you and kept things from you and pointed my gun at you."

He felt sick to his stomach, the same feeling he had every time he remembered that awful moment. He swallowed and looked at the clock. It was nearly time for her to arrive. Bobby rose and moved to fix her coffee. He deposited the cup of coffee, heavily sugared, on her desk. He returned to his desk and tried to concentrate on his paperwork, but as the minutes clicked by and Alex didn't appear, he grew increasingly uneasy. When he saw Ross approaching his desk, Bobby's heart began racing.

"This is it," he thought. "It's over."

"Detective," Ross said. "Your partner called in sick this morning. Said she had a bad case of the flu."

Bobby felt relieved and then guilty that he was relieved that Alex was sick. And she hadn't called him. On their very few sick days, they always called each other before anyone else. But that was before.

Bobby became aware that Ross waited for him to say something. "Uh, did she…How did she sound?"

"Not good," Ross said. "You and Eames don't take much sick time."

"Uh…Yea…She must be feeling pretty rotten," Bobby said. "I'll call later and see how she is."

"She said you were cleaning up the paperwork on your last cases," Ross said. "If you could finish that up, I'd be grateful. I'll try to keep you from having a new case."

"Thank you, Captain."

"And Detective…"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Thank you for…Your consideration on this last case. I appreciate it."

Bobby knew Ross had just made a hugely generous gesture towards him. "You're welcome, Sir. Thank you for listening."

Ross nodded. "Let me know if you hear anything from Detective Eames."

Bobby worked steadily through the morning, the paperwork requiring just enough concentration from him to keep worry and anxiety in a corner of his mind. But at about eleven thirty the duo managed to slip out of their cell and push to the front of his thoughts. He called Alex's cell. The call immediately went to her voice mail.

"Un…Eames…It's Bobby…Uh…I know I may be the last person you want to hear from, but…Uh…I was just…Uh…Worried about you. And wondered if you needed anything…So…Uh…I'll try your home phone…Uh…Sorry…Uh…But please call me back?"

He didn't care that his voice and words sounded so pitiful and weak. He called her home phone, got her answering machine, and left the same pathetic message as he had on her cell.

He hoped for more than expected a reply, but he tried again about one thirty. His worry grew as time passed and there was no reply from Alex or response to his calls. Alex might be furious with him, she might be leaving him, but she wasn't a coward. And she wasn't so cruel to dump him without any comment or by lying about her health. She must be sick, really sick. He considered calling someone in her family, but he knew Alex would never admit something so human as being sick to anyone in it. He wasn't sure where he stood with most of her family, but suspected many if not all of its members would slam a phone shut in his ear if he tried to call them.

In spite of his anxiety, Bobby had most of the paperwork finished when he came across a small point in one case that needed clarification. A phone call could answer it, but chasing after it in person required a trip to a neighborhood that, with a stretch, could be considered near Alex's house. He gathered the finished paperwork and walked to Ross' office. He knocked on the door and entered to the Captain's "Come in."

"I…Uh…I've finished most of this." Bobby handed over the paperwork. "But I found one point I need to check. So…Uh…I was going to do that."

"Thank you, Detective." Ross accepted the paperwork. "Have you heard from Detective Eames?"

"Uh…No, Sir."

"Maybe she's actually taking my advice and getting some rest," Ross said. "Again, let me know how she's doing."

"Yes, Sir."

Bobby was in a cab when he received a call that made the trip unnecessary. He hesitated, and then gave Alex's address to the driver. There was no reason for him to return to Major Case, and he didn't think he could do anything that would make Alex any angrier at him. He checked his keys, although he knew the extra key to Alex's home was still there.

"Maybe I can at least return this," he thought sadly.

He briefly considered having the cab wait, but decided against wasting the driver's time. It was late afternoon, and Bobby noted that there weren't any lights on in the house. Alex's car—her new car, bought to replace the one with the blood soaked trunk—was in the drive. He walked up to the front door, each step heavier. He raised his hand and knocked on the door. There was no answer, and he knocked again, a little louder.

"Uh…Eames?" he called. "Uh…It's me…Uh…Goren…Bobby…" He felt like an idiot, but his seed of worry was rapidly growing into a tree. "Please, Eames…I'm worried about you. Just let me know that you're ok. You can yell at me all you want. You can never talk to me again, but please let me know that you're ok."

His voice and knocks echoed. Bobby hesitated, and finally pulled out the key to Alex's house. With the air of a man resigned to his fate, he unlocked the door.

"Eames?" He poked his head inside the door.

The house was eerily quiet. The early evening light gave everything a grey tinge, and the air felt heavy and thick. Bobby wanted to fling a window open.

"Eames? It's me. I've just come to check on you. Please don't shoot me. Although I guess I wouldn't blame you if you did. I know. That's not funny. But please. Let me know you're ok."

He heard faint voices coming from the living room. He glanced in the kitchen as he passed by it. A carton of orange juice sat on the table, and several tissues dotted the table and floor. The mess scared Bobby. Alex was always neat and organized. All the forms were kept on or in her desk because she and Bobby always knew where they were. Any time a form went on Bobby's desk, it disappeared into the chaos.

"She's really sick," Bobby thought. He followed the sound. "TV. She's got the TV on."

He turned into the living room. A chef was describing a complicated recipe on the TV. The couch blocked Bobby's view, but when he stepped around it, he saw Alex, wrapped in a blanket, curled on it. She slept fitfully, occasionally murmuring. Her hair fell in a blonde veil over her flushed face. Scattered on the coffee table were tissues, a nearly empty water bottle, a bottle of Advil, and an empty mug. He picked up the remote and clicked off the TV.

"Eames," he said gently as he knelt by the couch. He brushed her hair back from her face and winced when he felt how hot she was. "Alex…Please…"

She stirred and moaned.

"It's me. Bobby. Listen. I'm going to get you some more water. I'll be right back."

Her eyes flickered open. "Bobby?" she rasped.

"Yea." He touched her cheek. "I'll be right back."

He scooped up some of the trash and dumped it in the kitchen wastebasket. He checked the orange juice and put it in the refrigerator. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. He went to the bathroom and found a thermometer. He returned to the living room to find Alex had drifted back into a feverish sleep.

"Eames," Bobby said gently. "I'm sorry, but I need to take your temperature. And you probably need some water."

She blinked and looked up at him. "You're real?"

"Yea. Here. If I help you, could you sit up?"

"Uh…Yea…"

He helped her sit up. A coughing fit seized her, and Bobby rubbed her back until it passed.

"Here." He lifted the water bottle to her lips, and she took a long drink.

"Thank you," she said softly. Her voice was weak, but had lost the horrible raspy sound.

"Not a problem. Let me take your temperature."

Bobby frowned. Her temperature was one hundred and two.

"Eames…"

She blinked up at him.

"When you get sick…I mean, I don't know…Do you usually get a fever?"

"Uh…I don't know. I don't get sick."

He smiled at her. "I know you don't usually. Ok. Do you know when you last took some medicine?"

She frowned in concentration. "After I called the Captain. My head hurts. And my throat."

"Let's try some Advil. See if we can take care of that headache and fever. Have you had anything to eat?"

"No." She shook her head and winced. "Not hungry. Thirsty."

"Here. Take the Advil and drink some water. I'll fix you some tea."

She winced when she swallowed the pills and water. As he wrapped the blanket around her, Bobby noticed that the huge T-shirt she wore was damp.

"You need a clean shirt too," he said. "I'll get you one." He stood.

"Bobby? Why are you here?"

He stopped in midstride. "Because…Because you're my…My partner…My friend."

He was shaking as he walked towards her bedroom. "God," he thought. "I'm a mess."

He stopped at the bedroom door. He'd never been this far into her home, and he felt like an invader. He fortunately found her T-shirts in the first drawer he checked, and returned with one to the living room. Alex still sat up, but her head leaned back on the couch. Bobby stood uncertainly. He wasn't sure how he was going to get her out of one T-shirt and into another.

"Eames," he said as professionally and calmly as he could. "I've got a clean shirt for you. Would you like me to leave while you change into it?"

Alex opened her eyes and blinked. "I…I think I'd like to get to my bed."

"Ok," Bobby said. "I'll help you."

It took Alex a great deal of effort to stand, and she would've fallen if Bobby hadn't caught her. He largely carried her to her bed, where he eased her down.

"I'll be ok," Alex said. Her voice was very weak, but stronger than it had been since Bobby had arrived.

"Why don't you change your shirt?" Bobby suggested. "And I'll fix you some soup. It doesn't look like you've had anything to eat today."

Alex frowned. "I don't think I can eat anything. But I'll try, if you want me to."

"Ok." Bobby smiled.

Alex managed to change her shirt, but the effort exhausted her. She weakly pulled the covers over her legs and fell back against the pillows. "I hate being sick," she thought. "Have I been out of it all day? Bobby is being so good to me."

There was a knock at the bedroom door, followed by Bobby's entrance. He carried a tray with a steaming mug of soup and a cup of tea.

"Here," he said cheerfully. "Just manage what you can. Chicken noodle soup and green tea. Probably better than any medicine."

The thought of food wasn't appealing to Alex, but her first taste of soup was surprisingly good. Its warmth flowed through her body, and she ate nearly all of the soup and drank all of the tea. She even nibbled a few crackers. But she was exhausted when she finished, and she leaned back on the pillows.

"God, I hate being sick," she mumbled.

"Do you feel better?" Bobby asked. He picked up the tray.

"Yea. I do. Aside from feeling like a truck ran over me."

"You get some rest. I'll try to get the number of that truck." Bobby smiled. "If you feel like it later, there's some sherbert."

Alex wanted to thank him, to tell him he didn't have to stay, but sleep took her. She thought, or at least hoped, she heard herself say "Thank you," before she fell asleep.

Bobby watched her fall asleep. He sat the tray on Alex's bedside table and carefully pulled the blankets and sheets up and around her. He brushed her cheek. She felt warm, but not as terribly hot as she had a few hours earlier.

"Good," he thought. "I think she's going to be ok."

He leaned back in the chair. The rise and fall of Alex's breath lulled him to sleep.

A sharp coughing fit shook Alex out of sleep. "Damn!" she thought. "I hate being sick!" She raised her head and saw the water bottle on the bedside table. Wincing as her muscles protested, she reached for the bottle. She took a long drink. "How," she thought. "Did I get here? The last thing I remember, I was on the couch." She frowned and turned over. In the faint light, she saw Bobby sprawled in the chair. She eased her body out from under the covers. She sat on the edge of the bed until a wave of dizziness passed.

"So," she thought. "He's how I got here. And why I feel better."

She stood carefully. Once she was steady on her feet, Alex walked quietly to the bathroom. "Oh, God," she murmured when she saw her reflection in the mirror. "I look awful. I'm glad it was only Bobby that saw me." She stared in the mirror. "Now, what does that mean? If anyone else…Even my sisters and my mother…Especially my sisters and my mother…Saw me like this, I'd be appalled. But Bobby. I don't mind. More than that, I feel safe with him. Even as angry as I was with him…Am with him. I feel safe with him."

Another fit of coughing seized her and left her dizzy and her sides aching. There was a sharp knock on the bathroom door.

"Alex…Eames? Are you all right?"

Alex leaned over the sink and caught her breath. "Yea…Yea." She hacked again, recovered, and opened the door. Bobby stood with his hand raised to knock again, and relief swept over his face.

"I'm fine," Alex said. If she spoke very softly she could keep the cough at bay. "Just trying to cough up a lung."

Bobby smiled wanly and stepped out of her way. "You look better," he said. "But we should probably check your temperature."

"I look better?" Alex stared up at him. "Bobby, I look like death warmed over. What did I look like when you got here?"

"Uh…I mean…" Bobby was saved when Alex stumbled slightly, and he caught her. "It's ok," he said. "You can lean on me."

"God," Alex said. "I hate being sick."

"I don't know anyone who enjoys it," Bobby said.

She leaned on as they walked back to her bed. She lacked the strength to argue with him and found his warm bulk comforting. He eased her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her. Another coughing fit grabbed her, and Bobby gently rubbed her back until it stopped.

"Ow," she said weakly. "My throat feels awful."

"Let me take your temperature," Bobby said. "Then you can take some cough medicine, and I'll get you some sherbert."

She allowed him to take her temperature—"A little high," he said. "But much better"—and, after a brief argument—"But it tastes awful"—she took the medicine.

"I know how it works," Alex said. "The germs get a whiff of it and run away."

Bobby smiled. "We can hope." He stood. "I think you deserve something sweet."

"You think you can bribe me with sherbert?" Alex asked. "Well, maybe you can."

Bobby returned several moments later. "I hope orange is ok."

"Yea."

"Do you feel better?" Bobby asked after she finished her bowl.

"A little. Now it feels like it was just a car and not a truck that hit me." Alex yawned.

Bobby picked up her bowl. "Don't push things too much. Flue bugs are nasty."

"Yes, Dr. Goren," Alex said gravely and sleepily. "Bobby?"

He stopped at the door. "Yea."

"Could you…Could you stay? Tonight? If it's not too much trouble?"

"It's no trouble at all," Bobby said after a moment. "I remember that your couch is pretty comfortable."

"Could you…Until I fall asleep…Sit in here?"

"Of course. I'll be right back."

He returned a few minutes later carrying two bottles of water. Alex, her eyes closed, lay back on her pillows. Bobby placed the bottles on the bedside table and carefully tucked Alex in. He settled in the worn chair next to her bed. He remembered that Alex told him it was one time of furniture she'd inherited from her parents she hoped never to give up. He watched her in the restless sleep of the sick. She was still flushed, but she looked much better than she had a few hours earlier.

"She didn't throw me out," Bobby thought. "I seem to have helped her. But she was probably too sick to throw me out. And anyone could've done what I did." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, at least she trusts me when I'm sick. Or when she's nearly unconscious." He leaned his head back against the chair. He hadn't realized how tired he was, or how much his anxiety over Alex and their partnership had cost him in recent days. He was asleep in seconds.

Two hours later, Alex woke with a choking and scratchy feeling in her throat. "Damn!" she thought. She coughed, took a deep breath, coughed again, and winced at the pain in her chest and throat. "Damn!" she thought again. She found the bottle of water and took a long drink.

"Hey, are you ok?

Alex rolled over to face Bobby. He leaned forward in the chair. The faint light from the window highlighted his face's pale color and his great, dark, sad eyes.

"He's really worried about me," Alex thought. "And I've been putting him through hell."

"Al…Eames…Are you ok?" Bobby's hand hovered over her.

"I…I'm fine," she whispered. "I…I'm just tired of being sick."

"Can I get you anything?"

"No. I'm good." Alex yawned. "Just need to get back to sleep. And you should at least go to the couch and try to get some too."

"Ok." Bobby waited until he thought Alex was asleep. He stood and walked to the door.

"Bobby?"

He turned. "Yes?"

"Thank you for being here. I'm glad you're my partner. My friend."

His heart rose in his throat, and Bobby couldn't trust his voice for a moment. "You're welcome," he finally said. "And I'm glad…Very glad…You're my partner and friend."

He returned to the chair and watched over her until he was sure she was asleep.

END


End file.
